Variations of
by withered
Summary: Stuck on the graveyard shift filling out paperwork in the same office as his swotty co-worker, Draco craves distraction. Obviously, Granger must comply.


prompt: co-workers

Variations of

.

"I could have been nice to you."

She didn't look up but snorted nonetheless.

Draco drummed his fingers against his desk, rocking back just a bit in his chair as he observed her. His co-worker of five years, he reflected, deserved much kinder years following the war that had ended their childhoods prematurely. The frenzied quality of her hair and the dark circles under her eyes were a given, but add her split bottom lip and those telltale bruises at her neck, and she was more of a mess than usual.

"Feeling guilty?" she asked, gaze flickering for a fraction of a second from the paperwork she was so devoted to, to her partner across from her.

He berated, "If you had been paying attention, that idiot wouldn't have gotten the jump on you, Granger."

"If _you_ had been watching my back like you were _supposed to –_ "

"You still would have caught him before he got you in his grasp," he interjected, flatly. "You're too capable of a witch to have _not_ been able to handle him on your own."

Bemusedly, she shook her head. "Were you not just saying you could be nicer to me?"

"I just was. Didn't I just admit you were capable?"

"You say that about a lot of people," she allowed. "But usually sarcastically."

"I didn't mean it that way this time, honestly Granger, so testy," he tsk-ed. "And you didn't even catch that I said, 'could have been', not feeling too sharp today, are we?"

Shooting him an unimpressed look, she turned her attention back to the pile of paperwork she still had before her. Usually, the mountain of bureaucracy would have been in alphabetized files and organized in order of urgency and then subcategorized into department and persons involved. But not even she, the famous know-it-all of the eye-roll-inducing "Golden Trio", could keep it together. He considered that maybe it was why her hair was looking more like a hazard than normal.

Her curly head, which was normally tied up to keep from obscuring her vision to prevent getting caught when working, was on the verge of snapping the ribbon into pieces. Sometimes she'd have the good sense to straighten the mane to get more control of it, but other times she was under the misconception that it would behave. To his peril.

The number of times he had a face full of hair just standing in arms distance of her was once too many. He consoled himself that at least her signature curls were clean; always smelling of a mixture of jasmine and vanilla, and they always had the most distracting gloss to them like polished mahogany –

He cleared his throat. "As I was saying, I could have been nicer to you."

"And what brings on this revelation?" Granger asked distractedly. She was quite good at multitasking, and had to be with him around, Granger had informed him long ago. Apparently being partnered up with _him_ was like having to babysit a child, though she conceded that it was far easier than having to be stuck with Weasel or Pothead. Something he felt a mixture of pride and offense over.

"I was bored," he informed.

"Do some work then?"

"Can't."

She sighed exasperatedly. "I'm afraid to ask why…"

He answered anyway, "Too boring."

"Malfoy –"

"Indulge me, it's one in the morning and we've been at this for four hours. We need a break."

"Correction: I've been at this for four hours, you've been at this for maybe half that time," was her pointed reply.

"Arithmetic not your strong suit at the moment either; Granger? I'll have you know I've been quite diligent for at least the same amount of time as you have."

"If you were so focused on your work, what brought this up?"

Draco stared at her with furrowed brows. "I already told you. Merlin, Granger, you need this break more than I do. I fear you're suffering from short-term memory loss."

Again, there was that sigh as she shuffled papers about. "I'm fine."

"I'm not," he deadpanned, "and as your partner, you should accommodate me."

"I don't need to accommodate anything; can we please just finish this off so we can go home?" Granger snapped.

"Home is equally as boring." He waved off. "At least you're here. Now, indulge me."

As her desk was right across from his, Granger couldn't hide the eye roll if she tried. Not that she did. But to his credit, she also didn't argue with him further which may or may not be due to the fact that she was intending to ignore him regardless. Which he also knew, she was not capable of…

"Now as I was saying: I could have been nicer to you and perhaps, maybe, we could have been friends while at Hogwarts."

Her head snapped up, eyes meeting his.

…especially when it was something as terribly diverting as the new game he had made up.

"There's no way," she informed instead.

"How so?"

"Have you forgotten the issue that is the _unfortunate_ condition of my birth?" she asked flatly, eyes narrowed now. Unfortunately, the issue that was her blood status, the treatment that came with it, and fought a war about, had not been corrected in the five years since. Even he, a Death Eater at seventeen, could get better treatment in some circles than she, a notable war heroine and holder of an Order of Merlin: First Class.

"Regardless. As I said, I could have been nicer, and at least hid my disdain."

"Oh," she muttered, eyes rolling again. "What a pleasure that would have been."

"Your turn."

Granger cocked a brow. But before he could assume that she didn't understand the point of his distraction (of which he would have been disappointed), she said, "I could have been a pure-blood." And he lamented, that oh, if she was, this whole thing would have been _so_ much easier.

"If you were, we would have gotten along splendidly as children."

"There'd be nothing different about me, Malfoy," she said with a huff.

" _Au contraire."_

"Enlighten me then."

"We get along now that your blood status isn't of concern to me so clearly we would have gotten along whilst in school too," he decided.

"I still would have been in Gryffindor," she reminded.

"House rivalries aside then."

"I still beat you at being the top of our year, every year."

He continued to insist, " _Personal_ rivalries aside."

"We would never have known each other," she continued to disagree.

"All pure-blood families in England know one another," he reminded, "my mother arranged playdates with most of the children my age, had tea with their parents, my father probably went hunting or did business dealings of some sort with them too."

"What if I wasn't from England?"

Oh, that was a consideration. "What if indeed…" He hummed, drumming his fingers against his desk once more as he deliberated. "Well, if that were the case, I would have made it a point to know you. Beating me out for top of our year, and never trying to meet with you to know the extent of your intelligence or unearth your weaknesses? With the added contradiction of you being placed in Gryffindor? What kind of Slytherin would I be?"

She frowned, though it seemed a thoughtful one instead of an expression of actual displeasure. "A bad one, I presume."

"Exactly. My turn." He cleared his throat. "I could have been a muggle."

She snorted. "Ridiculous."

He sniffed. "I would have been a brilliant one."

"You wouldn't be you if you were," she said, almost laughingly at that. "Everything from the way you speak to how you dress to all your little mannerisms!" He was well aware of the airs he put on that she mocked, the old fashioned way he bowed, his choice of dress on a day-to-day basis, and he sniffed. Most women found that attractive.

"Some muggles have proven themselves to be refined," he argued. Honestly, had she no love for her parentage? Surely they couldn't all be terrible; after all, they raised her!

"Such as?"

What was the bloke's name again? Ah! "William."

"William, who?" she asked, still grinning.

"That man whose grandmother is on muggle currency."

Her mirth died in her eyes, turning her expression slack. She deadpanned, _"Prince William_?"

Smugly, he nodded. "Yes, him."

A second later, she snorted in disbelief. "Why aren't I surprised that you'd align yourself to royalty if you were a muggle?"

"It would suit, no? Aristocratic good looks, fine breeding, refined manners, excellent sense of dress…"

"And balding," she added.

His jaw slackened. "What?"

"He's growing bald," Granger informed flatly, almost amused. "Perhaps you should have chosen to emulate Prince Harry?"

"Oh, no, the ginger one?" His lips curled in distaste.

"What's wrong with -?"

"Your turn."

Granger rolled her eyes, well aware of his ongoing passive-aggressive feud with Weasel-bee.

He didn't understand why she would be surprised. She complained about him ferociously during their first two years as partners; at least before she had the good sense to dump him.

Draco had heard it all: everything from how inconsiderate Weasel was about her career to his continuous assertions that they should 'settle down' (read: dedicate your time to taking care of me instead of working, the wanker) and even to the fact that he, with his barely there intelligence, found a way to undermine hers.

Really, Granger should _not_ have been surprised about Draco's dislike of the prat.

"I could have been Head Girl," she interrupted.

"You're going to go with that?" he asked; his turn to be unimpressed.

"What?" She raised her hands in defense. "I could have been. I was all set to being one you know. How good would it have looked on my application form?"

"Wouldn't have mattered, your resume is over a foot long and still going. Tell me, did you actually do all those things or did you just rewrite Hogwarts: A History?"

She transfigured the parchment before him into an angry duck that began to peck at him furiously. Yelping, and swatting it away before he had the good sense to mumble "finite", he recomposed himself while Granger took to pretending she was engrossed in her work, hiding her snicker, and it was his turn to roll his eyes. "You really are quite touchy. Forgive me for thinking you'd be more creative then: 'I could have been Head Girl'."

"Well, what would you have said?" She huffed, giving up her game of pretending to work, and casting aside her quill, arms crossed and a pout tugging at her lip.

"I could have lived in a time without the war." Her eyes widened, and he had to suppress the urge to grin. "See, isn't that much broader! Tell me, Granger, what would you have done if you lived in some version of the universe without the war, hmm?"

"Head Girl," she persisted, looking mighty satisfied with herself.

He snorted. "Lord, you really are gunning for that title, aren't you?"

She stuck her tongue out. "It was a big deal, okay? I was never going to be crowned Miss Hogwarts or anything, but Head Girl?"

"As if you would have wanted to be crowned Miss Hogwarts, I'm of the mind that such a title would be entirely useless and the tasks menial at best."

"But Head Girl," she persisted, and he allowed it with a sigh, "Alright, I can concede that." She looked pleased, and he made the mistake of continuing, "You would be the likely candidate. And with the troll playing a part of the war that was to come, you wouldn't have had the distraction of the two idiots."

She was quiet then. "We would have still been in the same house."

"If I remember correctly, they weren't particularly fond of you before the troll. Though I don't think anyone was, you were showing up the pure-bloods for Merlin's sake." It had meant to sound amused, and it did, but it didn't seem to have the desired effect on her. Instead, Granger had gotten a strange faraway look in her eyes, the reflection in her eyes strangely glassy almost as if - she sniffed.

It got uncomfortably quiet rather quickly, until she murmured more to herself than to him, "Without the war, I wouldn't have had any friends."

Realizing his mistake, he hastened, "Now, that's just –"

"True," she interjected. "The only reason I was in the bathroom in the first place was because Ron had been making fun of me to Harry, Dean and Seamus." Draco didn't remember the other two, and he doubted Granger was particularly close to them, but he'd remember their names anyway to accompany Weasel-bee's, if necessary. "Without that troll," she continued, "Harry and Ron wouldn't have come to find me there, and we wouldn't have been -"

"Hardly a loss," it was his turn to interrupt, "there are others in school who would have enjoyed your company. Your intellectual equals, perhaps?" Frankly, considering the entirety of the school populace, very few people were even on the same plane as her. They could be naturally smarter, _sure_. But they weren't as dedicated to the pursuit, weren't as creative in its uses and certainly not as brave in its attainment. Who else was capable of successfully brewing Polyjuice in their second year, as a muggle-born who didn't recognize any of the ingredients, no less?

"I…"

"Come now Granger, have you forgotten that I would have gotten to know you because I wanted to beat you?" Draco cajoled, getting her attention.

"We would have been rivals."

"We would have," he agreed with a solemn nod, "and what's the old saying? 'Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer'?"

"We'd be rivals, but not friends."

"We could have been," he refuted with a snort. "Despite my attempts to maintain the status quo of 'Slytherins hate Gryffindors' and vice versa, spending time with someone of your caliber, and for long periods of time what with our shared classes from first year to seven, it would have encouraged some form kind of relationship, and dare I say, affection? After all, you got to like Weasel-bee at some point and he's been arguably a bigger arse to you than I've been." Draco was certain that he'd never actually made Granger cry besides calling her the "M" word, and for all his bullying tendencies, he'd saved the harsher treatment for Saint Potter.

"I suppose…"

"And we do get along well now, surely?" he pushed.

"When I don't want to hex you for being a prat," she admitted with a begrudging smile.

"See, you hex because you love."

She snorted, rolling her eyes. Sadness effectively dealt with. " _Sure_. Well, what else, then? If there were no war, what else would have happened?"

He'd actually entertained that thought rather regularly during the actual war so his consideration was more for show than anything else as he mused, "I would have been friends with a Gryffindor, the wrong one, mind, but I'd certainly be happier for it."

Her lips lifted at the corners. "Still wanted to be friends with Harry, hmm?"

"Assuming he really ended Voldy-dork as a baby; yes. I'd probably dislike him as I did before, except you wouldn't be at his side, and that makes quite a difference, you know."

"Oh?" she echoed.

"You were the reason he did as well as he did," Draco reminded. "He paid about as much attention to classes as Goyle did. He may grasp magical concepts faster, but Potter doesn't have an ambitious, self-motivating bone in his body."

She looked almost uncomfortable at the accuracy.

He continued anyway, "Without you pushing him along, he would have fallen to the obscurity that once-famous people do, and I'd have no use for that. I might rile him up every now and again because I'm awful. But my interests would most certainly be more orientated to making my parents proud."

"Really?" she asked, surprised.

"That's the main goal of any pure-blood child: Duty. Honor. Family," he recited. "Both my parents were in the Slug Club when they were at Hogwarts; my mother was one of the Chasers for the Slytherin Quidditch team, and my father was one of best duelists in the school. Both ranked in the top tier academically. The pressure was already on whether my last name was Malfoy or not."

"What about me?"

"Self-centered, are we?" he cocked a brow, and she had the decency to blush, even as she defended, "Well, it was my question."

"If you must know: even without the war, the idea of pure-bloods being 'better' than everyone else would probably still be around. It wouldn't be fashionable to be blunt about it, mind you, but good breeding can only do so much. Regardless, our friendship would cause a stir of sorts in pure-blood circles," he recited. "Parkinson would be livid that you were 'stealing me' and trying to end 'our engagement', and my father would have sent word that I should cut all ties with you to appease her."

Granger actually took in a breath through her teeth, practically a hiss.

"You try not to be bothered about it; you have other friends anyway," Draco continued, "You and Padma Patil get on (as you do now). Daphne Greengrass and Tracy Davis would be convinced I'm crazy until they get to know you, and then _I_ have to be the one to get them to leave (which I also do now). You practically adopt Luna Lovegood after protecting her from being bullied, and you won't let anyone near the poor confused thing, while Neville Longbottom is practically attached to your hip (both of which are true now, as well)."

After a pause, he repeated, "You aren't alone. But you also like me the most."

She rolled her eyes, but he can tell she was kind of impressed, so he continued on, "I idolize my father, though so I consider it because what parent wants you to do something that can hurt you? But even being the most understanding person I know, you're still upset, and we aren't friends for a little while."

Her brows furrow.

"When Christmas break comes around, I go home. Having reflected enough about the situation to be pissed about it, and confronting my father; any engagement with Parkinson ends right there. Come end of break, I try to get you to forgive me."

"And let me guess, I do it in a heartbeat because you're my friend and I'm an idiot?" That wouldn't be a new thing for her. She was entirely too forgiving a person.

But he had his own opinions about that which was why his snorted. "I wish. You've got self-confidence and self-assurance in spades, and an army of overprotective girlfriends – and Longbottom – that I can barely open my mouth before one of them threaten to hex me or send death glares or whatever else is in your Hogwarts-Hallway-Approved arsenal. I end up having to make a scene during breakfast to even get my apology out, and then, of course, the gossip springs up that I'm in love with you."

She laughed. "Imagine that, and then what?"

"I deny it, of course. But I can't fight fate, now can I?"

Granger looked thoughtful then. "Do I feel the same?"

"I don't know, do you?"

She considered it for much longer than he would like, in fact, she appeared to go back to work. So he was left to stare after her; jaw set and expression blank.

Well. That game ended well.

Resolutely, Draco took to finishing the task of getting the paperwork done to the point where he was so engrossed that when she touched his hand to still him, he actually jumped. "What?" he asked, a little too sharply.

"How does it end?" she asked instead.

"What?" he repeated.

"How does it end, Malfoy?"

"How does what end?"

"The story."

"What…?"

She shook her head. "Oh honestly, I think you need the break more than I do, maybe _you're_ experiencing short-term memory loss."

"I…" Feeling all too self-conscious, he could only stare at her, and she shook her head.

"The story about how we became friends in Hogwarts had there been no war? Or do you not have an ending?"

He cleared his throat then. "Is it possible to say it's on-going?"

"What? So five years after graduating Hogwarts, that variation of us wouldn't have done or said anything about the fact that you're in love with me?"

Draco blinked up at her owlishly.

"Fine then," Granger said, straightening. "Well it is my turn so: You don't tell me you love me. You pretend we're just friends and we graduate and we go into the Auror Academy together. I end up as partners with Ronald Weasley, and we start a long-term relationship. It ends badly. I request a new partner, and you're there like always. We go on cases, we do our jobs, and we pretend we're not in love, and we don't say a word."

"That's a terrible ending," he remarked after a lengthy pause.

With a shrug, she said, "Consider it on-going."

When he could come up with no reply, she returned to her desk to get ready to leave. Her workstation, he noticed, had returned to its orderly state, and her hair didn't look nearly as confuddled as it did earlier on.

Granger made for the door.

"I could have told you."

She stopped.

"We could have kept doing what we're doing right now," he continued, carefully, thoughtfully, even as the corner of his lip turned upward. "Arguing about everything under the sun, but still stopping to pick up each other's coffee or cover for one another when something goes wrong, or lying on the floor of your flat pretending we don't still have panic attacks, or taking over my sofa because we got too caught up in a case, or taking turns making dinner because we really can't live off takeaway and then getting sloshed off cheap wine because you refuse to let me buy better vintages; except we know."

Cards on table;, hand revealed, thoughts laid out: plain, simple, honest. "And I'm nicer to you," he added when she still said nothing.

She flashed him a smile, though there was just a hint of shyness to it as she offered, "Nice enough to buy me dinner sometime?"

He puffed out the breath he didn't know he was holding before he waved his wand to fix his desk, and grabbed his coat from behind his chair. The clock on the wall read just after six. "How about breakfast instead?"

* * *

 **A/n:** Written ages ago, but always stuck at the bottom of the to-be-edited pile, so I decided to put my trust in Grammarly and hope for the best.

Thanks for reading!


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